


Sweeter than fiction

by futacookies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Miya Osamu, Post-Time Skip, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29203500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futacookies/pseuds/futacookies
Summary: When Osamu told Atsumu he was going to take a two months course on French patisserie in Shizuoka, the only thing his brother told him was that Suna Rintaro, his infamous  ex-something, still worked there. But what are the chances of meeting him, anyway? Very low, if you asked him.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60
Collections: SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	Sweeter than fiction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inarizakillme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inarizakillme/gifts).



> Here’s to you the results of a month worth endeavour: I struggle with this fic on many different levels and I'd lie if I say I’m fully satisfied but that’s the sad destiny awaiting all my stories. On the other hand it was a lot of fun to write in this scenario and to add endless pining from both sides. Also the title comes from a Taylor Swift’s song.  
> Enjoy your read!

«I think you’re totally out of yer mind.», Atsumu announces, sitting in front of him after stealing one of his onigiris right under his nose.

«Hello to you.», Osamu mutters and gets up to retrieve another tray of onigiris so maybe his nuisance of a brother will stop trying to eat his dinner.

«I mean, French patisserie is already weird enough ‒ where did  _ that _ come from, anyway? ‒ but  _ Shizuoka _ , god, can’t you be any more stupid?»

Osamu frowns and listens to his brother moving one criticism after the other ‒ it’s not like he will accept those anyway. Yes, sure, he wanted to learn about French patisserie on a whim, but now that he finally has someone to leave his restourant to, he thought it was about time he added a thing or two on his curriculum. And he wanted to try baking for a while, so what better occasion?

«‘samu? Oi, ‘samu, are you even listening?», Atsumu complains, kicking his ankle under the table.

«‘course I am.», he lies, stuffing his mouth. «Haven’t missed a word yet. ‘m literally hanging from yer lips.», he adds, getting to the next onigiri. Inviting ‘tsumu for dinner was a bad idea. He does nothing but spitting mean comments on his life choices, and he talks, talks, talks until he just  _ has to  _ punch him (because, hey, deep down everyone knows he deserves it).

«Liar!», he shouts, throwing another kick.

It looks like he’s gonna complain about being ignored a little more, so Osamu gets ready to tune off once again, when Atsumu’s expression gets more- soft? serious? it’s not like his brother is capable of such complex emotions. But it could be interesting. Maybe he’s about to say something vaguely intelligent.

«What I meant to say is-», he begins with an exasperating tone that only makes Osamu wish to get up and hit him, «that-», he stops, as if he’s his trying to find the right words, «uhm-»

«Oh, c’mon ‘tsumu, spit it out.», he orders, annoyed.

«What I meant was- Suna’s still playing for EJP.» 

Ah, so that’s what all the fuss is about. 

«Whatever.», he blurts out. 

He understands why Atsumu might be worrying, but honestly this is pure bullshit. He hasn’t seen Suna, he hasn’t heard anything from him for at least three years now. After graduating he vanished, leaving Osamu soaking in a pond of unrequited feelings and never voiced confessions. A puddle of regrets he rolled in for a while, before finally deciding all hope was lost and life went on. He dived into his work, so much work to keep him from thinking ever again about Suna and their relationship and what that could have been.

That is, until Atsumu brought it up. Honestly, they never promised each other anything ‒ they danced around each other for a while, they flirted, they kissed enough time to consider their relationship a bit more than your usual friendship, and much to his disdain Suna was the first, and only, guy who he had sex with. Yet nobody ever said a thing about being a couple ‒ they got along and liked each other enough for- well, anything they did together, but clearly not enough to last once their high school bliss was over.

Osamu accepted it. He’s fine with that, really ‒ Atsumu worries too much and always over some weird shit. He won’t suffer again just because he mentioned Suna. It won’t be difficult to take some lessons in the same city Suna works. Suna’s an athlete, he’s gonna be busy training 24/7 and Osamu is only going there for two days a week. What are the chances of meeting him, anyway?

«It’s extremely important to roll the dough perpendicularly to where you rolled it before.», Marcel, their teacher, explains. Osamu isn’t fully paying attention, though. He keeps turning his head to look at the station right next to his. Suna, standing there, catches him once and flirtatiously waves his hand.

_ What are the chances of meeting him? _ , he asked himself. Higher than he expected, that’s for sure. 

He was struck the moment he saw him and did his best to dissimulate.

Suna Rintarou, EJP Raijin’s middle blocker, long time crush, who never ‒  _ never _ ‒ showed the slightest hint of interest for anything cooking-related, now is proudly standing in the station next to him, fighting with the croissant dough. If he wasn’t that bothered, he might even laugh.

Suna was right before his eyes at the entrance and Osamu thought he could ignore him until Suna acknowledged his presence, but  _ “what are you doing here?”  _ escaped his mouth, faster and more spontaneous than anything else he could say. Suna heard him and raised his gaze from his phone, gracing him with a lazy smile ‒  _ “I could ask you the same”,  _ he answered, clearly amused,  _ “can’t a guy have a hobby?” _ , he added, and once their teacher passed over them he stopped to greet him familiarly ‒ which could only mean the ultimate aim of their hobbies was very different.

That was two hours ago. Now they’re busy with their first recipe, croissant, and Osamu probably shouldn’t be wondering whether Suna’s hobbies trail or not into his bedroom. Maybe he should just wonder why on earth the gluten in his dough seems so stiff ‒ but he perfectly gets it, he also wouldn’t be fully relaxed knowing that Suna purposely chose to sit next him, in the closest possible station, when he could just ignore him.

«Miya-kun! You’re going to tear the dough! Put it back into the fridge, it needs at least thirty more minutes!», he gets scolded.

Osamu sighs. He carefully wraps the dough and puts it to rest. While everyone else starts shaping croissants, he looks over his notes, trying to understand what he did wrong ‒ ah, there, he should have rolled the dough in the same direction. He got-

«Distracted?», Suna asks, leaning towards him.

«Fuck you.», he answers, scribbling notes.

«You  _ wish _ . Anyway, you can’t. Marcel is taking me to dinner later.» 

Of course Marcel is taking him to dinner. What is their relationship anyway? Is he a flirt? A friend? A poor, unaware prey?

«He’s ugly.», he whispers, getting even closer.

Ah, that’s awfully familiar. Whispering mean comments while leaning on each other's shoulder, ready to shout something awful to Atsumu as soon as he screws things up. It takes him back to memories of stolen kisses and hands that sought each other in the dark of their rooms. It’s too dangerous and too soon for this kind of sappy bullshit. 

«He’s  _ French _ .», Suna explains, like that was a good enough reason to date him. 

Suna takes a good look at him and Osamu just knows he can easily read on his face anything he’s thinking ‒ he’s jealous, stupidly so, he’s always been stupidly jealous even if he never had a right to. Yet Suna’s enjoying his reaction, because he ruffles his hair and explains: «Just so you know, he’s a friend. It didn’t really work between us.», he sighs. 

_ And thank god it didn’t _ , Osau wants to say, but he quickly realises that really, they’ve been in the same room for no longer than two hours and Suna’s already in control ‒ he already took over him, swiftly wrapping himself around him like one of those croissants currently baking. Maybe Suna hopes to handle him just like some dough ‒ except Osamu has no intention of getting cooked and burnt. It doesn’t matter if they act immediately familiar, like those past years never happened. It doesn’t matter if Suna is giving him a longing stare that Osamu knows where it leads to. None of that matters. The only thing that really matter is-

«Miya-kun! Your dough should be ready now.», the teacher suggests, guiding him in the last steps to make sure he won’t furthur make mistakes. 

Suna, who stayed behind once the lesson was over, every now and then looks at him, bored, granting him enigmatic smiles that only gets him more distracted. When his own croissants are finally baked, golden and crisp, Osamu can’t wait to be back home, safe from prying eyes who seems able to read every single thought of his.

Saying Atsumu gloated when he heard what happened would be an understatement ‒ because,  _ eh _ , he was right, he told him it was a bad idea, he told him he would regret it. And now, according to him, karma was punishing him for not listening to his brother. Or something like that. By then Osamu thought it was worthless feeding Atsumu’s god complex ‒ he thought it was stupid, telling him about Suna, but he did it anyway because he needed someone to talk to.

«So, what are you gonna do? Drop out?», Atsumu asks, following him into the kitchen to keep discussing.

« _ Nah _ .», he starts, shaping the first onigiri. «It’ll be like accepting defeat.»

«There’s nothing wrong in accep-», Atsumu mechanically answers, then goes: «- _ nah _ . Yer right.»

Osamu chuckles before banishing him from the room. 

What he doesn’t tell him is that for a moment, while he was on the train that took him home, he honestly considered dropping out ‒ he could have easily used his job as an excuse, but then he thought about Suna, standing next to him, leaning towards him to bother him with such a pretty smile.

He missed it. Suna and their relationship ‒ and it’s fine, if he can’t have what they had in high school, but just seeing him there is enough of a reason to take another train to Shizuoka.

There’s a tiny bed&breakfast, not too far from the pastry shop where the course is held, and Osamu reserved a bedroom for every Tuesday he has to take lessons so he won’t have to make a relatively long journey twice in a day. When he arrives there, he leaves his bag in a corner and freshens up. He even considers wearing a change, so he could look more- polished? just to quickly shut away the thought: last thing he needs is Suna thinking he’s putting an effort to look nice  _ for him ‒  _ which would be  _ true _ , sure, but that doesn’t mean he has to know it.

«Waiting for me?», he asks Suna, finding him outside the building. 

The other shrugs, pretending he didn’t understand the question or maybe refusing to answer him. Osamu could swear he was still until he appeared in his field of vision though, much like a sphinx waiting for some poor, unfortunate soul to question him. The poor, unfortunate soul is obviously himself, Osamu thinks.

They enter the class together, talking about the weather, about Suna’s practice, about Osamu’s shop  _ ‒ “You should come, sometimes” _ he wants to offer, but somehow Suna feels way too distant for something like that, as if this time they’re still trying to shift in the comfortable intimacy of the past week. As if it’s suddenly harder, as if only in this moment they both realise how easy it was, the first time, and therefore how much more frightening it is now. 

« _ Mesdames _ and  _ messieurs _ », Marcel announces once they’re all seated, «allow me to introduce you macarons.», he continues, revealing a tower of cookies hidden by a box until a few seconds ago. «Of course you won’t have to recreate this sculpture. You’ll only have to bake some pretty, yet resistant, shells.», he explains.

Suna curses under his breath and Osamu immediately leans in to listen to anything he has to say.

«My sister decided to bake those things last year.», he explains. «They’re little bitches.»

This time though Osamu doesn’t indulge himself with distractions: he follows through every step carefully, measuring and sifting both powder sugar and almond flour, he whips a magnificent, shiny merengue, and, okay, maybe he adds too many drops of coloring, but that only means his shells will be more vibrant than others. The  _ macaronage _ it’s the hardest stage, and many sigh and grumble. Not Osamu, who rolls up his sleeves and starts folding the mixture firmly yet gently until it’s dense enough to form the unfamous ribbon everyone is seeking after.

He can tell Suna stopped and is staring at him before actually turning his head to hold his gaze ‒ and neither is capable of looking away, so they stay there, looking at each other and suddenly Osamu is seventeen and in love and for a moment he thinks Suna might slide by his side to steal a kiss. The clashing reality is cold enough to wake him up and make him focus again on the piping bag he abandoned on his counter.

«You’re a natural.», Suna comments, returning to his own macarons.

Osamu shrugs.

«I won’t help you just because you’re stroking my ego.»

Suna giggles, amused: «It’s not like I need your help.», then he mutters something Osamu can’t quite grasp.

While they’re waiting for the shells to dry before cooking them, they make the filling: butter, sugar, someone adds vanilla beans, some other cocoa powder, or coloring, or some artificial flavour you can easily find on the shelves. Then the filling is in the fridge, the shells are cooking and now they’re waiting. Suna and Osamu share an oven.

They’re sitting incredibly close and there’s an electric silence, full of expectation, as they’re on the brink of doing or saying something, but Suna doesn’t tell a word, his back against the wall, so any initiative it’s up to him ‒ and right now he might not be able to invite Suna to his restaurant, but he can still ask him out.

«Are you busy, later? We could go grab something for dinner.»

There’s a strange twinkling in Suna’s eyes and Osamu can’t help but think he’s fallen into some sort of trap. It’s just a moment though, then Suna’s face is once again displaying a bored pout.

«I’d love to, but-»

«What,  _ Marcel _ is taking you out again?», Osamu asks, defensive, mimicking his worst French accent.

«I didn’t remember you were this  _ funny _ .», Suna scolds him. «Tomorrow we have to leave for a match. I need to go to sleep early. Maybe next time.», proposes. 

«Next time, sure.», Osamu agrees.

Still, he can’t hide his disappointment ‒ not only did he act like some petty child, but his invitation was also rejected.

_ Next time _ , Suna promised him, and now that’s all Osamu can think about ‒ next time could mean anything: a date, or two friends going out, or two former classmates who never felt anything for each other catching up. It could be that. Suna never did anything to make him believe his (never confessed) feelings were requited. Osamu was just an average teenager with a crush and now he’s a man allowing that same crush to take over his life. It’s silly, it’s immature and he wonders about the actual entity of said crush, given how much power Suna has on him.

Atsumu is trying his best to talk him out of this. He’s never been so often to the  _ Onigiri Miya _ , with tons of excuses:  _ “I thought you might need help”, “I wanted to give you tickets for the next match”, “I’m hiding from Omi-kun” _ and whatever other nonsense came to his mind, just to then ask if he’s going to drop out from the course. Once he went this far, though, Osamu decided the less Atsumu knew about this whole ordeal, the better. 

So when next Tuesday came, and he was getting on the train, his brother hadn’t heard from him in two days.

«One of the most crucial step in the  _ tarte tatin _ is how apples are cooked.», Marcel explains, showing everyone his pan. «They need to be softened, sure, but not turned puree!», he adds.

Osamu is not really listening. Every now and then he glances at Suna, even less interested than him, and they mechanically follow through each step. The result isn’t quite good, so Osamu notes to retry it once he’s gotten home.

Those three hours seem everlasting: Osamu moves around like a caged animal, his fingers drumming on the counter. He keeps staring at Suna while he’s looking away, hoping to find him at least a little tense, but the truth is he keeps his stoic expression on the whole time.

Maybe he’s overreacting, maybe he’s reading too much between lines that mean nothing. Maybe it’s really just a friendly night out, as it should be, and maybe he should just get over it and stop thinking about things happened so long ago ‒ when they were living in their little bubble, undisturbed, with no one else around, when it was so easy to pretend it was fine to just waste time together, no string attached, when flirting was just a way of having fun and there were no feelings involved.

Now it’s been years, his wounds are healed and he shouldn’t be so weak to let himself believe Suna now might want something he left behind long ago ‒ maybe he should keep a stoic face too, he should convince himself they lost their chance and won’t ever get that back.

But beyond all these feelings there’s an overall sensation that he should be angry: Suna vanished, never said a word, and now he acts like that never happened ‒ and Osamu even allowed that. At first he was too caught by surprise to care, too focused on Suna being there, in front of him, talking to him but now it’s also bothering. Why act so friendly when they clearly became like strangers? And his brain was so fogged he asked him out last week, fully believing it was a good idea ‒ probably just to piss off ‘tsumu and his cheap sermons.

But now it’s too late to draw back. They’re going to get dinner and he’ll deal with his anger and his attraction another time and he’ll keep smiling until he can safely retreat. He might make up excuses, sure, but making up excuses means running away and running away only means being defeated and he’s not one for defeat.

«So-», Suna starts, waiting for him at the door ‒ it almost seems awkward.

«So.», he replies in an attempt to break the ice, «Do you know any good place?»

Suna slowly nods and lists different options. Osamu is not paying attention to him: his gaze quickly moves from Suna to the busy streets, the buildings around them, trying to handle the sudden nostalgia bursting in his chest and the mounting rage clogging his mind ‒  _ we could have had three years like this already _ , he should tell him.  _ If only you didn’t throw it all away. _

«What do you think?», Suna asks once he’s done.

_ I think I should hate you. I think we shouldn’t be here. _

«You choose.», he answers, shrugging. 

Suna shrugs, clearly annoyed, and tells him to follow. Osamu complies in silence, wondering if withdrawing isn’t actually the best course of action ‒ wondering if it’s worth, pretending he’s alright, he’s fine with it just for one night and then just going back to Osaka to plant this new, growing seed of hatred.

«Here.», Suna announces at the entrance of a pub.

Osamu steps forward to enter but Suna pulls him back by his sleeve. 

Oh, he’s angry.

«Why are we here?», he asks, glaring at him.

«To get dinner?»

«Don’t give me that crap. Why did you invite me out if all you’re doing is pouting and ignoring me?»

«Look, I’m not pouting», Osamu protests, «and it wasn’t my intention to-»

«Oh, yes it was. Is it some sort of twisted revenge?»

«Wha-»

«Oh, I see, I didn’t show up in years and now you invite me for dinner just to pretend I’m not here.», he continues.

«No, Rin, wait-»

«I was sure you got over it. Otherwise why not being this hostile last week? Or the one before?», he notices, then adds: «And just so you know, if you ever texted me I would have answered you.»

«You left without even saying goodbye! One day you were there and the next you weren’t! How was I supposed to know you’d have done that?», Osamu groans.

_ I loved you so much and you left me without a second thought. It’s been years and I still love you and I hate myself for that. I hate you, too. _

Suna doesn’t answer. He crosses his arms to his chest and sulks for a bit ‒ oh well, Osamu thinks, maybe this is necessary. Maybe I have to tell him how awful it was, back then.

«I thought you hated me. I thought-», Osamu stops, waiting for Suna to look at him, «I thought you didn’t care about me at all. Can you imagine what it’s like?»

_ You snap your fingers and everyone falls for you. I fell, too. Can you imagine what it's like to think the only person you ever wanted doesn’t want you back? Of course you can’t.  _

«Of course I can. I thought that too.»

Osamu chuckles bitterly. 

_ No, you didn’t. You didn’t, you didn’t, you didn’t otherwise once in a while you would’ve showed up. You would’ve come saying hello. You would’ve texted me. But you didn’t.  _

«Did you really?», he asked, sarcastic. 

«Yeah. And I had my reasons for just- disappearing.»

Osamu thinks he should shut himself and listen and try to stop acting like a five years old kid. Suna said he thought that too. That he suffered too. Fine, he can believe him. He can do it, really, but truth is he’s not sure he cares about him and his suffering and his reasons. He just wants Suna to shut up and let him vent so maybe he can start being a normal person again ‒ a normal adult, a perfectly fine person who got over his teenager crush and whose actions are not influenced by it.

«Then let’s hear these reasons.», he grants, urging him to talk.

Suna tenses, probably after being cornered.

«My reasons are mine only. I don’t owe you any explan-»

«You owed me a goodbye, at least. But I didn’t even get that!»

Osamu snorts, annoyed. He’s fed up with this bullshit. This conversation is not going where he hoped to and now this night out, which was supposed to be for them to reconcile, has just turned into a warzone. 

«I should leave. Bye, Rin. See you next week.» 

He turns his back and he should be going somewhere, but he has no idea of where he is ‒ he starts walking in the same direction they came from, and Rin, stuck frozen behind him, doesn’t even seem to chase after him. 

«‘samu! Wait.», he begs, rapidly closing the distance between them, «Wait.»

Osamu, paralized, just look at the road in front of him. Suna rests his head on his nape ‒  _ you can’t do this _ , he thinks.  _ You have no right to act so vulnerable and regretful.  _

«I thought we could fix things between us.», he admits, talking to his back. «And I thought we did that right away. When I first saw you and you talked to me, I was so happy. I thought you didn’t hate me.»

Osamu nervously runs a hand through his hair.

«I could never hate you.»

«And then you asked me out and I told myself we were about to leave the past behind and pretend our relationship wasn’t strained at all. I thought it was my chance to make it right.»

«Did you want to make it right acting like an asshole?»

«Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.», Suna apologises. «Do you mean it? That you’ll never hate me?»

Osamu hesitates. Does he? Yes, sure, he’s angry. Resentful, even. But Suna is with him now, by his side, looking at him with pleading eyes and- how could he ever hate him? Suna was his best friend. His first love. His one and only. And maybe he still wants him to be. 

«Yes, of course I do.»

Osamu shifts to face him. 

_ C’me here _ ,  _ right into my arms, where you belong.  _

He wants to say it. But Suna doesn’t belong there, not really, not in this very moment when their relationship still looks so fragile. One, single, wrong word could break them for good ‒ because if he was to reveal his feelings, would Suna reject him? Would this send Suna away? The mere thought is unbearable. Osamu has no intention of pushing his luck that far. 

So he stays quiet, waiting for Suna’s next move.

And Suna ‒ who’s been an angry asshole the whole evening, with his gloomy face and his glares ‒ beams at him like a little kid. 

«So we’re okay now? Friends?»

Osamu would groan, if that wouldn’t give him away. 

«Friends, sure.»

_ Great! _

Right after creampuffs, somewhere before croquembouche, they sleep together.

The fourth lesson, on choux pastry, won’t be on Tuesday ‒ it’s going to be on Wednesday and a 24-hours difference and a very short notice is all it takes for his usual room to be already booked. So, as soon as the lesson is over, Osamu resigns himself to rush to the station in order to catch the first available train that will take him home in three uncomfortable hours.

«Hey.», Suna stops him one second before he leaves the room, «Would you like to get a drink?»

There are many many things Osamu could say right now ‒ for example, he could ask if that’s a date, or he could remind Suna that last time they went out together they didn’t actually enjoy their time and he has no interest in repeating that experiment, thank you very much. Instead he ends up explaining to him in detail what his current situation is, glaring impatiently at the clock. If he doesn’t start hurrying now he’ll probably lose his ride.

«Why don’t you stay at my place?», Suna offers, as if it’s the most natural solution. «We could order take away and-»

_ No way _ , Osamu thinks, listening to Suna absent-mindendly. There’s absolutely no way he will do it. He will now refuse as politely as he can, he’ll turn his back and he will run until he’ll be safely seated on the train, away from borderline indecent offers and the extremely dangerous temptation of accepting them.

«Sure.», he answers instead. «Why not?»

Suna warmly smiles and Osamu can’t suffocate the butterflies in his stomach. He follows Suna silently, cursing himself for not refusing as he should have. A week before they were arguing in some dark, lonely alley and by some miracle they managed to find common ground to reconcile. Friends, they said. Bullshit, Osamu thinks. They stay still, waiting for the traffic lights to turn red, and Osamu turns his head to look at him and he knows, without a single doubt, that he just can’t stop himself from loving him ‒ he stares at his face, bathed in yellow from a streetlight and his heart skips a beat.  _ This is the guy I’ll love ‘till the day I die.  _ He knows that much. 

Suna’s hand, resting on his side, accidentally brushes his ‒ and if Osamu was a little braver, it’d be so easy to take it. It’s just there, meant to be held. He takes a deep breath, and observes for a few more seconds the cars speeding before his eyes. Then he lays a finger to stroke gently the back of Suna’s hand ‒ and once the green light finally becomes red, Suna intertwines their fingers and pulls him along to their destination, carefully avoiding his gaze.

Suna lets go of his hand the moment he has to open the door: only then he takes a peek at him and what he sees ‒ his adoring eyes, Osamu supposes ‒ makes him giggle.

«Make yourself comfortable.», he says, moving on the side so he can enter as well. «It’s not really big, but still, it’s home.», he says, leading him into the living room.

«Wait until you see my flat.», Osamu answers before even realising it.

Ah, he really sucks at this. How can he justify the not-so-hidden wish to take him home? Even if Suna is to come back to their hometown, he still has his parents’ house. He doesn’t need to stay at his place.

«It’s small, so far away from the city center, and the power gets randomly cut off.», he explains, before Suna can tease him for his slip.

Suna though isn’t really paying attention to him, because he collapsed on his couch right away and is now scrolling his phone, probably looking for some place to order delivery from ‒ he raises his eyes and stares insistently at him. Osamu’s still awkwardly stuck at the entrance, like waiting for permission.

«Come here, would you?», Suna points at the empty seat near him. «It’s not like I’ll bite you.», he mutters, shoving himself to the side to leave him even more space. «If you want to take a shower the bathroom is over there. I can lend you a change of clothes for the night.», he says, getting up and showing him around.

And that’s how, half an hour later, Osamu sits right beside him, wearing a bright yellow tracksuit with a huge “EJP” logo written on the side. It feels like a fever dream, like some unknown godly entity came to him to show what his life could have been if only their relationship took a different turn ‒ a few nights together stolen from their busy schedule, to watch the news or to comment on that new tv show that looks like trash but they’ll end up watching anyway. Together.

Instead they have just this one night.

«What do you think you’re doing?»

Suna, pointing his phone against him like a weapon, quickly takes a picture.

«You look so funny with this thing on.»

«Then maybe I should remove it.»

«Maybe.», Suna agrees, slowly tearing his look away.

Was it too much? It seemed too much. Was it a failed and embarrassing attempt at flirting? Sure it was. They should change topic. Quickly.

«Your uniform sucks.»

«Umph. Tell me something I don’t know.», Suna mumbles, then adds: «We can’t all be lucky like your brother.»

Well, as much as it pains him to say it, Osamu has to admit ‘tsumu’s uniform is actually cool ‒ black and gold and so elegant compared to the many other highlighter-like uniforms in the league. ‘tsumu.  _ Mh.  _ If his brother knew he’s actually at Suna’s, that he’s going to sleep here and he wants to be here and there’s no other place in the world he’d rather be, he’d probably strangle him with his own bare hands ‒ or maybe he’d threaten something cripict and mean like  _ “I won’t dry your tears once he'll break your heart” _ and Osamu will have to pretend he has no idea what he’s talking about.

«Do you ever talk to him?»

«Mh?»

«‘tsumu, I mean.»

«Ah.»

Suna pauses, looking for a gentle way to break it down to him.

«If shouting obscenities from one side of the court to the other counts as talking, then  _ yes _ .», he explains. «He doesn’t like me ‒ don’t give me that face, you know it’s true. He never did. At first because he was scared I would take his precious brother away from him and then- well, because I didn’t actually do it, I guess.»

Osamu blushes but suddenly gets gloomy. Bringing up the very past they both agreed on leaving behind was very low ‒ letting himself think Suna might have, maybe, claimed him for himself was very low. Saying out loud such a thing, as if there was a time when it was actually a possibility, as if Suna was actually going to do it, it’s very low. And it hurts. Osamu should shut up and leave them both to rot in this awkward silence before he gets hurt beyond recovery. God, this was a mistake.

«Sorry, I didn’t mean t-»

«Ah, don’t even say it, it’s not like I ever cared.»

There’s a moment of silence in which they both seem really busy staring at their own empty hands, trying to find something else to say, when the bell finally rings.

«I’m going.», Suna announces, jumping up. «We can’t have anyone see you in this monstrosity.»

«You have- wait a minute.», Suna tells him, right before getting a napkin and inching closer to his face, to clean up a dash of glaze in the corner of his mouth.

Osamu, restless and tense, darts his eyes from one side of the room the other, anywhere to avoid Suna’s face, close, extremely close, so close he can feel his breath warming the skin of his cheek ‒ his beautiful, oh so beautiful face that he could so easily cup in his hands and kiss all over and-. Osamu shuts his eyes, he takes a long, deep, calming breath, and once he’s ready to open them Suna has already leaned away.

«Sorry.», he whispers, even if doesn’t seem very regretful. «It was way more simple like that.»

«Don’t.», Osamu whines, shifting on his seat, «I can tell you don’t really mean it.»

«Yeah, I’m not really sorry.»

Osamu should block off certain thoughts. Certains thoughts just shouldn’t be thought ‒ they should be locked away in some abandoned corner of his mind and left there. These are the same thoughts his sixteen-years-old self had, when all he managed to think about was Suna. Now he’s a fully grown adult ‒ now they broke up, or never got together, or whatever mess they actually made ‒ and he should wake up from this romantic slumber. They’ll never be together, no matter how much he wishes so, no matter how much Suna might flirt with him.

Friends, they said, and he accepted because Suna said he missed him ‒ as a friend? Definitely not as a lost chance, as a permanent question mark to keep him awake at night ‒ as a friend. And friends don’t really flirt, they don’t mean it and they joke about it and it’s perfectly fine and there are no feelings involved. So Osamu will make up his mind about them being just friends and will convince himself Suna has no ulterior wicked reason to get this close.

Suna had many relationship ‒ some before him and some after him ‒ and he moved on with his life much faster than he did. Osamu had to work himself out not to worry about guys and dating and unrequited feelings. It would make no sense for Suna to come back at a starting point he already left behind ‒ and Osamu, who stayed there waiting, should also get going.

«We should get going.»

Osamu immediately leaves his thoughts aside, staring at Suna like he grew a second head.

«Mh?», he asks, just to make sure Suna actually spoke and he’s not hallucinating things.

«Go to bed. It’s getting late.», Suna explains, though he doesn’t really sound enthusiastic about it.

«Ah. Yes. Yes, of course.»

Osamu helps him prepare the sofa bed and once they’re done there’s still a lingering, unsettling silence between them.

«So.», Suna begins, swinging on his feet.

«So-»

«Goodnight.», Suna tells him, leaning in to stamp a kiss on his cheek.

It’s a matter of seconds, everything so quick then once Osamu finally starts processing what happened Suna’s already in his bedroom.

«Goodnight to you», Osamu whispers, incredulous, touching his cheek.

Osamu can’t sleep. He tosses and turns, kicking off the bed sheets, taking them back because he’s cold, he tries to sleep in ten different positions. He looks at the entry door, then at Suna’s bedroom closed door and can’t help but wonder if he’s sleeping ‒ can’t help but wonder how is he sleeping, given that the mere thought of them being this close is enough to keep him awake for the next two months.

Groaning, he sits up. He takes a look at his phone: there are a few missed calls from Atsumu that he’s going to ignore until tomorrow afternoon and a long, detailed message from his employee telling him everything that happened at the restaurant that evening. It’s been two hours since they went to bed and he’s still desperately trying to fall asleep. He glares at Suna’s closed door, as if it could magically open to reveal that he can’t sleep as well because he’s too busy thinking about him and how they should give another shot at their relationship ‒ which will never happen, of course, because that’s just Osamu’s brain projecting his own desires on Suna.

Besides, even if Suna was willing to go back to their swinging relationship, Osamu could actually go along with that? By now he can’t just deny his feelings for him ‒ he can’t just deny he’s forever doomed by these feelings. But trying again also means he has to put up with the possibility of things not working out and Suna leaving and breaking his heart and Osamu doesn’t want that ‒ Osamu just wants back everything they lost.

Perhaps he should tell him this. He should get up and knock on his door and tell him he still loves him and will keep loving him whether his feelings are requited or not. Yes, he should do that. He will. He’s going to, he thinks, throwing the bed sheets to the side and jumping up ‒ worst outcome is Suna not talking to him for three more years. He’s already used to that.

He’s standing outside his door and he raises his arm to knock when, actually, the door opens. Suna, eyes wide, is as surprised as he is.

«‘samu-»

«Rin.», he stops him, determined to speak before losing that little courage he gathered ‒ but Suna hurls himself at him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him close.

They kiss.

Osamu puts a hand around Suna’s nape to get a better hold. Suna tilts his head to deepen the kiss and lets go of his shirt to cling on his shoulders. When they separate, both in need of air, Suna looks at him, hallucinated.

«Is this real?»

«What, have you dreamed of this?»

«Shut up.»

«I could bite you, if you want.»

« _ What’s wrong with just pinching? _ », Suna mutters, but still bares his throat and extends it towards him ‒ much like a peace offering.

Osamu cups his right cheek and Suna sighs, resting on his palm. He gets closer and leaves a trail of kisses from his temple to his cheek to the crook of his neck, where he lingers to suck the tender skin. Suna quivers against him, digging his nails into his shoulders.

He bites softly on the reddened spot and Suna trembles. 

«Fuck, ‘samu.», Suna moans, tugging at his hair to keep him still on his neck. 

He’s rutting against his leg, already hard. Osamu slips a hand in his boxer, freeing his cock, giving it a few tentative strokes and Suna slams a hand in the wall Osamu has been cornered into to steady himself. His pace becomes more confident ‒ Suna likes long, slow strokes, he still remembers that. His free hand roams his torso, immensely appreciating the results of years of training, his ever-so-refined abs, his solid pecs. He tugs a nipple and Suna, whose pants were the only noises in the room, whines.

«You like it?», Osamu murmurs against his ear, lips lingering on his lobe.

Instead of answering him Suna lets out a guttural groan that sounds almost like a growl. He clutched his shoulder, frantically thrusting into his fist. He throws his head back after a particularly satisfying stroke and Osamu takes advantage of his exposed throat, sucking, licking, biting, leaving behind a trail of blossoming red marks ‒ he hopes they won’t fade away by tomorrow morning. He hopes they never will.

«Wait-», Suna complains out of breath, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. 

«What, already this close?», Osamu teases.

«Jerk.»

Suna urges him to remove his shirt and tosses it to the side. Even with the dim light reluctantly offered by the city lights, Osamu can tell Suna is looking at him ‒ he can feel his own body burning with wants and desires underneath his eyes and can’t wait to be set ablaze by his touch.

«Let me-», Suna pauses, his fingertips trailing down until he’s palming his length still covered by fabric. Osamu hisses and his hips immediately buckle up against his hand. «Let me take care of you. Please.» 

Osamu, left speechless, incapable of articulating any form of coherent thought ‒ just  _ Rin Rin Rin  _ until his heart threatens to burst in his chest ‒ lets him get a hold of his neck and Suna’s kissing him once again: his tongue, pushed with no resistance past his lips, twirls on his. 

He’s not rushing anything, no matter how much faster or heavier Osamu’s breaths get ‒ and Osamu, kissing him back until he has no more air in his lungs, lets out a pleading whine. Suna fleets on his knees to put a chaste kiss on his cleavage, one between his pecs, and then pushes his tongue flat against his hardened nipple, licking it until swollen. He bites it, the slight pressure of his teeth delightful and yet not enough to satisfy him. 

Lowering himself, Suna peppers his stomach with hundreds of featherlight kisses, his lips barely brushing his skin. 

«I want to devour you.», he whispers against his navel.

«Rin-», he pants, a hand through his hair to push him further down, «Rin,  _ please _ .»

«Shh, I’m getting there.»

Suna playfully pinches him on his side and then he’s finally on his knees, staring at Osamu with such languid eyes that makes him want to take him right here and right now, he doesn’t need the bed, half a meter away and he doesn’t need Suna to suck his dick and- ‒ but then Suna mouths at his erection, resting uncomfortably in his pants and Osamu could even forget about his name.

He’s naked now, painfully hard at Suna’s mercy, his pants slipped down his thighs and forgotten there. He licks a strip from the base to the tip, bobbing his head just there for a few times, swallowing the precum leaking. Osamu shuts his eyes, melting against the wall, hand gently abandoned on Suna’s head. 

Once Suna starts taking him, the warmth of his mouth enveloping him, he grips and tugs at his hair and Suna hums on his sensible skin, allowing him to pick the rhythm he wants ‒ and he goes for a while, his lips shiny and wet, his hands gripping on his ass cheeks for stead, beautiful like a vision and Osamu is so lost in his mind and the pleasure slowly building up could flood him any second.

«I want you so much.», he blurts, and Suna goes still for a second. He lets go of his dick with an obscene pop he’s not sure he will ever forget. Osamu gives a few complaining sounds but the contrast between the previous warmth and the sudden flow of cold air makes him shiver and shuts him up. 

Suna kicks off his briefs and dives into his bed, turning around to reveal himself ‒ offering himself for him to take, and the only way Osamu can call the feeling churning his stomach is yearn. 

«Come and get me, then.»

Osamu, mouth dry, rushes to him, hovering over him. With their bodies entangled together and their sweating skin sticking to each other, they both let out a content sigh. Osamu leans in to kiss him hungrily, and Suna, pliable underneath him, rolls his hips up a couple times.

«Condom and lube. In the nightstand.», he orders, and Osamu needs a second or two to actually register his words, his mind still floating, his lips still desperately chasing after Suna’s.

«Are you sure-?», he tries, once gathered what’s needed.

Suna snorts.

« _ Very sure _ , thank you for asking.», he throws his leg on Osamu’s shoulder. Osamu, catching it, plants a kiss on his knee. «Now, can we get on with it or I have to show where my asshol-  _ ah! _ »

Osamu got some lube still cold on his fingers and put one in before Suna could finish his sentence. He focuses on his expression, looking for signs of discomfort, but Suna, close eyes and parted lips, looks completely fine. He keeps tentatively exploring him ‒ he’s not afraid of hurting him, just wants to savor the moment, to make it right in any possible way having sex with the man you love can be right. 

Once Suna seems to be getting impatient, Osamu adds another finger and he hooks them, brushing his prostate.

«You used to rush things much more back then.», he argues, and Suna squirms before being able to answer.

«I-  _ ugh. _ », he pauses, pushing his hips against his fingers until Osamu grabs one to keep him still. «Nevermind.», he huffs, cracking his eyes open to give him a liquid look.

Ignoring his own aching cock, Osamu just focuses on Suna, on pleasuring him, on drawing once again delighted moans from his lips, fingering him open.

«‘samu, I need you.», Suna complains, but Osamu pretends not to hear, his fingertips brushing lightly his prostate. Suna whines but doesn’t give up. «Ohh, come on, I know you want it too.»

«But do I want it as badly as you?»

«Yes, you do, ‘samu. Fuck, stop teasing ‒ please,  _ please. _ »

There was something inexplicably intoxicating in listening to his pleads, knowing Suna’s crying out for something only he can give him right now ‒ Osamu wants to keep him like this forever, throbbing cock, flushed cheeks, his chest rising and falling faster every passing minute. He removes his fingers, leans over him for a kiss and gives a few, lazy strokes to his erection. 

«But how much do you want it?», he breathes on his lips.

Suna doesn’t hesitate.

«Since I saw you at the pastry shop.», he blurts. Then, for a split second, he gets all serious. «Actually- nevermind. ‘samu, please, I’m  _ dying _ here.»

Osamu is dying there, too, his body on fire from tension and desire so he steals one more kiss before pulling away. He rolls on the condom and sits between Suna’s legs, already spread wide. Giving him a loving look, he pushes inside ‒ he feels so good, Suna is so tight around him, familiar yet somehow different.

Suna curses under his breath and once he gets used to it he raises his hips. Osamu, thrusting with a torturing slow pace, drowns in every little Suna’s sigh. He bends him underneath him to reach his lips, drinking his breaths, savoring each second.

«I don’t think I ever stopped wanting you.», Osamu confesses.

«Me neither.»

Suna blushes, arching his back against him, asking for more, and Osamu-

«What about your affairs?», he pants, his hand sinking on Suna’s right hip to thrust deeper.

Suna snorts.

«Didn’t matter. Any of them. Just you ‒  _ only you _ .»

The aftermath is downhill ‒ not in a good way. 

Osamu flops on top of Suna, who immediately put an arm around his waist and starts lightly stroking his back.

«Did you really mean it? What you said earlier?»

He’s looking for answers ‒ for reassurance? He could never sleep without knowing Suna’s true feelings. He has to understand if they just made the stupid choice of hooking up or if this is the prelude of something more. But Suna is not as generous with words as he’s being with cuddles.

«Can we talk about it tomorrow?», he asks, too busy entangling their legs, «Let’s just- enjoy tonight.»

The next day, they don’t talk about it.

Osamu is not very proud of what he did ‒ of course he isn’t. Nevermind leaving Rin’s bed, still warm, which was more painful than shameful, but leaving his house like some sort of thief as soon as dawn came can count at the lowest point of both his life and their relationship. 

He got scared. 

Much differently than Suna, who ended up sleeping peacefully in his arms, he just couldn’t rest. What if Suna was going to regret it by the time he woke up? Then it would be obvious their relationship reached a dead point and whatever romantic nonsense he whispered in his ears was nothing but instincts driven by lust. He couldn’t accept that. So he quickly changed and just- just left. He headed to the station, got his ticket, came home in time for breakfast.

That was five days ago and he hasn’t heard anything from Suna yet ‒ which doesn’t actually surprise him, but still he can’t hide his disappointment. He thought, if Suna really cared, he’d reached out. Asked for an explanation, at least. But none of that happened, so it’s pretty obvious that he’s not affected by it at all, while he has done nothing but moping, wondering why he thought having sex with him was a good idea to begin with.

Tomorrow, he’s expected to attend the fifth lesson, but he’d lie if he said he wants to go. He doesn’t want to meet Suna, not when he so evidently rejected him ‒ not when the only image in his mind, for the past days, has been his flushed cheeks and his lips curving to moan his name. There’s no way he can handle that. 

So he’ll just wait another week, to make sure his mind won’t be too occupied by Suna to actually function. He can give himself that. Another week to mellow down his feelings and to suffocate them for good so they won’t be a bother anymore. So he can talk to Suna and tell him to forget about what they did and to just focus on being friends. Whatever they had is long gone and he just has to get used to it. Finally.

It has now been two weeks since he last saw Suna and, as expected, nothing happened. Atsumu knows something’s wrong with him, and he most definitely suspects Suna played a major role in it, but other than that he’s blissfully clueless. If he was to find out, Osamu’s sure he’ll never hear the end of it ‒ and he can’t even blame him, since Atsumu tried to warn him so many times.

It was just so easy though, Suna was there, and Osamu missed him, and Suna must have missed him too, so he didn’t think things through until it was too late and the damage was already irreparable. He’s not even sure he regrets it at all ‒ it felt like the most obvious, most natural course of action. He loves him, and misses him and wishes they’re relationship didn’t have to be this complicated.

Although willing to attend his next class, Osamu can’t help but hoping maybe Suna wouldn’t be there, to spare him the necessity of facing him. 

Since these lessons started, a month and a half ago, Osamu’s luck has never really been on point. So of course Suna is there, and on top of that he looks angry and menacing and Osamu is forced to reevaluate all his life choices until then ‒ nevertheless, he tries his best to follow this week’s recipe, making sure his dough is properly resting in a warm place and preparing the rum glaze to soak the cake in.

Suna, on the other hand, doesn’t seem very interested. Osamu steals a few glances at him, throwing carelessly his ingredients into the bowl and impatiently drumming his foot on the ground until the cakes, finely decorated, are displayed on their respective counters. Marcel waves goodbye and Osamu turns around just to see Suna is nowhere to be found. 

He makes his wait out of the building, until he trips and almost falls face to the ground.

«Just where do you think you’re going?», Suna asks him, pulling him up by the collar.

«Ah, Rin, that was-  _ unexpected. _ », he blurts, referring to his sudden attack.

«Mh.», Suna agrees. «You know what else was unexpected?»

Osamu tries to open his mouth but is immediately shushed.

«Don’t answer, that wasn’t actually a question. Waking up alone,  _ that was unexpected _ .», he hisses, tugging a bit more on his collar. 

_ Oh. _

«Did you actually mind?»

Suna’s eyes widen.

«Of course I minded! I was furious! What kind of question is that? What kind of  _ behaviour _ was that?»

«Uh, I-  _ sorry. _ », he apologies, his brain still processing his words.

Being angry about it doesn’t actually mean anything, though. Maybe he just wounded his pride, or violated some unknown unwritten rule of sleeping with your ex-something. Maybe Suna has feelings and he’s actually hurt. Maybe he also over-thought about it until he couldn’t sleep at night. Maybe he should give him a more solid and heartfelt apology then just this stingy “sorry”.

«Yeah, sorry my ass.»

Well, he’s not wrong.

Suna pinches his nose, taking a few, deep breaths before talking again ‒ and he still seems angry, but he’s also a little- unsure? There’s something in his look now that makes him much less menacing and much more softer. Osamu wants to hold him.

«Okay, I’m going to talk right now and you will just stay there and listen, okay? Once I’m done you can leave again or say something or whatever. I don’t care.»

Osamu nods but Suna isn’t even looking his way.

«I thought- ‒ it’s so dumb, I know ‒ I thought you still loved me. When I said I wanted us to be friends you seemed so heartbroken I was sure there was no other explanation. And then I invited you to my house and we flirted and you were standing outside my door!», he takes a break, finally staring at him. «I thought you were going to confess.», he hisses.

Oh, but he was going to. Osamu takes a step forward because he doesn’t believe he can bear seeing him this hurt and not do anything about it. Instead he clashes against Suna’s finger, pointed against his chest.

«I waited all my life for that, so I told myself it could wait a few more hours.», he says, his finger poking aggressively at him. «But then I woke up and- well, I wasn’t expecting that. It was awful.», he pouts.

«And you weren’t in the kitchen making breakfast, you didn’t leave a note, you didn’t call me, you didn’t even text me!», his hands open and close a few times, enough for him to calm down. «Which only proved I was right the first time I left. It can’t work between us. You do nothing but hurt me.»

Osamu freezes hearing his words. While his brain is trying his best to connect all the dots, he can’t even blink. Suna’s actually in love with. He wasn’t going to regret anything ‒ he didn’t reject him. Well, until now. That sure sounds like a rejection.

«I never hurt you.»

Suna gives him a stern look.

«Not intentionally!», Osamu protests.

«Then why did you leave?»

«Why did I-? Why did you leave  _ me  _ in the first place?»

«God, this is so frustrating! I was moving to another part of the country and you were busy with your restaurant and we weren’t even a couple. It’d have been messy and we would have fallen apart and I didn’t want any of that.»

«So you just left.»

«Yes. Now what about you?»

Osamu wants to scream. If it was socially acceptable, he’d be screaming himself voiceless. He’s not sure he’s able to put into words all his feelings. He’s not sure if it’s worth it anymore. Suna doomed them to be unhappy and regretful for years and now he’s actually putting the blame on him? He would have walked on his bare feet to Shizuoka if Suna asked him. He would have found a way to make everything work. They would have. Together.

«I thought you didn’t want me.», he spits out. «Not really. Guess I was right.»

Suna’s face is disfigured by pain. 

«‘samu, wait, you can’t be ser-»

Osamu turns his back, raises an arm to say goodbye, and slowly walks away.

A week and six sleepless nights later, he’s back on his train. He thought it was going to be melancholic, instead all he feels is relief. Few more hours and he’ll be happily filing this whole accident as a mistake he won’t repeat. Fuck Suna and his feeling and their relationship. He was probably right ‒ no amount of love and work and sacrifice can make a relationship last if there’s no interest from both parts. They were doomed from the very beginning, he just didn’t accept it. But now there’s a strange calmness invading him. Suna can’t hurt him anymore, no more than he already did. 

Except of course Suna is right at the station, sitting on a bench not far from the platform his train arrived. 

Osamu groans.

He used to like how Suna crushed his plans, how he was unpredictable, how he learned to perfectly read him ‒ until they drifted apart and Suna became some sort of ancient, mythological language he could read but not fully understand. Now it’s mostly annoying. 

«What are you doing here?», he asks.

«I want to talk.»

«Well, I think we talked enough.»

Osamu tries to walk away. He thinks he's trying, but his feet are cemented to the ground. He doesn’t want to talk with Suna, he’s being honest about that. It’s just pointless at this point. But still. He could listen. Again. He could let Suna throw up all his feelings on him and then he could go home and wash himself. But he’s so tired. There’s a soreness in his muscles, a strain in his soul and an ache clearly showcased on his face. 

«Fine.», he agrees. «Let’s talk.»

He sits beside him. The stone bench is cold, and uncomfortable, and whatever is going to come out of Suna’s mouth is going to be cold and uncomfortable too, he can bet on that. 

«I was wrong.»

«Colour me surprised.»

«Shut up.», Suna chuckles, nudging him.

Osamu isn’t laughing though.

«I shouldn’t have disappeared. We might have had a shot, back then. And I shouldn't be mad at you ‒ I still am, though. I-», he pauses, staring at his freezing hands. «I underestimated what it took to fix the crack between us. And I understand now my actions hurt you as well.»

Suna turns his head to meet his eyes ‒ there’s an undeniable sorrowfulness, one that weakens him to a point of no return. It’s just the mystic power he had on him.

«I get it, if you don’t want to see my face ever again. I really do. But would you, maybe, consider giving me another chance?»

Osamu looks away. 

Give him another chance. Oh, this is so not about him giving Suna another chance. This is about them, both of them, consciously choosing to let themselves taste a little happiness while aware it could easily be lost. It could not be worth it, that’s the only conclusion Osamu came to in the past days. Their best efforts still could not make the consequential hurt worth it ‒ because at some point something will go wrong, he knows it and he can’t ignore it and he can’t prevent it from happening.

«Rin, I-»

«Wait.», he stops him. «What were you gonna say? The night we-  _ that  _ night, when I thought you were going to confess, what were you gonna say?»

_ I still love you and I’ll keep loving you.  _

He can’t tell him that. Not right now. Not when he finally convinced himself he was close to a way out. He won’t let Suna pull him back in this mess of a relationship. 

_ Whether my feelings are requited or not. _

But now he knows his feelings are requited. This is Suna openly asking for a second chance, for a possibility to work things out together, to be happy together instead of yearning for each other from miles apart. This time it could be different. No more hidden feelings. No more lies, no easy way out of this. This is what he spent the last three years wishing for. This is what he always wanted, offered to him on a silver plate. 

«I love you. Always have, always will.», he admits reluctantly. «Doesn’t matter if you love me or not.»

His heart thunders in his chest. He has no reason to fear rejection anymore, but there’s something so unsettling in waiting for some reaction while Suna looks like a reindeer caught in the lights, scared and confused and maybe this once he was the one bracing for rejection who never came. 

Osamu could never reject him, not when he has long decided Suna was going to be the one.

«So-», Suna starts, holding both of his hands. «It means yes.»

Osamu impatiently frees his hands to grab his collar, smashing their lips together. Suna emits a chokes, surprised sound, but then he’s wrapping his arms around his neck, passionately kissing him back, holding him tight. He’s warm and the only solid thing protecting him from the harsh wind blowing. 

Once they broke apart Suna cups his cheeks, stroking them with his thumbs. He loves him. He feels loved ‒ and he has known love before: from his family, from Atsumu, from his teammates, from Suna himself, but it never quite felt like this. This is so much sweeter.

«Should we-  _ uhm _ , go to our lesson?»

Osamu giggles. He turns his head to plant a kiss on Suna’s palm and he grabs his elbow to pull him into his arms. 

«Nah. It can wait. This can’t.»

_ (Turned out, their lesson couldn’t actually wait. Poor Marcel spent five minutes scolding them in front of everyone only to send them to their stations to make sure they could master a perfect soufflé in the little time they had left.) _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo, here’s the end. The recipes - where mentioned - come from my wide though weirdly organized knowledge of baking so yeah they’re all French and they’re all real. Why French?, you’d ask. I have know idea. It sounds fancy, I guess, and then I could add _Marcel_ who was an absolute delight. I winged many things with the characterization because those two are not very defined characters which only added to the fun. The twins bickering was another personal favourite to write. The _sexual segment_ doesn’t reach its physical climax because I really wanted to highlight the much more meaningful emotional peak. The ending might be sappy but I like sappy so yeah - bear the sappyness!  
>    
> If you liked it, please consider leaving a kudos/comment and you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/futacookies)!


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